


Promises

by shippingjohnlock



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shippingjohnlock/pseuds/shippingjohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is an anything but an average 18 year old. With verbal abuse at school, and physical abuse at home the teenage genius begins to lose hope. It's not until he's forced to write letters to a solider  in Afghanistan, that his life truly begins to change. But is the change for better, or is even more chaos about to be added to his life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Okay everyone, time to settle down"  
I roll my eyes, not so much to enjoy the view that the back of my head offered as to show my annoyance with my English teacher. If she honestly expected that to quiet the class than she was crazier that I suspected.  
"hey freak" Sally. A puff of breath escaped my lips as I pointedly ignored the curly haired girl beside me. As if English class wasn't bad enough, Sally just had to be assigned the seat next to me. That was the universe's job after all, piss off Sherlock until he kills someone. I clasped my hands together, waiting as patiently as possible for Mrs. Noark to actually be able to quiet the class. After exactly one minute and 43 seconds, she was able to regain control of her rowdy students.  
"Today we begin a new project" groans and annoyed mutters cluttered the perfectly square tile wall classroom. Despite the fact the whining drives me that much close to insanity, I couldn't help but agree with the other students. Which was weird. I never see eye to eye with others, especially not them. With anyone really. Mrs. Noark however, ignored the complaints and continued with her instructions. "It's to practise our writing and communication skills" she clasped her hands together loudly, excitement thick in her tone. She appeared almost giddy, twirling her shoulder length brown hair around her index finger. "We'll be writing soldiers!" She exclaimed happily.  
"Soldiers? Like people from the army? That fight in wars and stuff?" I couldn't hold back the snort that I always felt emerging when Anderson spoke. What an idiot. Even Mrs. Noark seemed a bit frustrated with his half-witted question.  
"Yes Mark, exactly like people from the army." she paused before continuing. "Starting today, you will be given a soldier's number, and you will write to them. In a week or two, they will write back. You will continue writing back and forth until the end of the semester. Yes, Sally?" Sally's hand raised beside me, her legs crossed underneath our shared table.  
"Will you be reading our letters before we send them?" He voice went a few octaves higher than usual as it often did when she spoke to teachers. Her 'good girl voice'.  
"Good question. No, I will not be reading your letters, nor will I be marking them. However, if you wish me to correct your grammar for you, I am always willing to offer my hand." There's a catch. There has to be. It's all to...too easy. "At the end of the semester you will have a presentation about your soldier" and there it was. "You will write not just about their characteristics, but about their stories. Think about how close you get with this person, and about if they changed you somehow. If so, how? These are all good things to think about before your project. Do not be afraid to ask for pictures so your presentation is visually appealing." She continued to explain but I wasn't listening. Ways of avoiding the project clogged up my mind but as the period came to a close, I felt an odd tingle of excitement. Mrs. Noark handed me the number of my soldier and suggested I started writing immediately. And part of me, was more than excited excited to do so.  
 "Hey Sherlock!" I half jumped. It was unlike me to get startled by anyone other than Mycroft. Yet somehow Molly, of all people, had managed to sneak up on me.  
"Oh, hello Molly. Jim" I smiled at the pair as I continued to walk. Molly slithered her hand so it was resting in the crook of my arm.  
"What were ya thinkin' about? Or should I say, who?" She beamed, a playful gleam in her fudge brown eyes. I ignored it.  
"No one. I was just thinking about that English assignment."  
"Doesn't it sound delightful?" she chimed. I rolled my eyes.  
"Oh please don't tell me you're actually excited for this stupid excuse for a project?"  
"Of course I am!! Sherlock, it's going to be lovely! I can't wait to find out who my soldier is." Jim's eyes followed the mouths of whomever spoke, his brown globes moving back and forth like a ball in a tennis match.  
"What project?" Molly removed her hand from my arm and I pretended not to miss her warmth. She excitedly explained the project to Jim, her smile widening as she got into her own personal ideas.  
"..and Mrs. Noark said we could visit their family. You know, to collect old pictures, and learn more about them, and oh my goodness Jim, I wish you were in our English class!" Jim grinned, shaking his head slightly.  
"Sounds fun Molls. Can't say I'm jealous though."  
"Oh don't worry Jimmy, I'm sure you'll have just as much fun next semester" I taunted. The older boy swung at my jaw playfully. I dodged it easily, stepping gracefully out of his way. He chuckled loudly, slinging his arm loosely around my shoulders. I leaned into his touch, welcoming his friendly smile. I may not admit it to anyone, hell most of the time I can't even admit it to myself, but I truly do love my friends.

*

"I'm telling you boy, you're no good! No good at all!"

 A vase near missed my head, smashing against the floor beside me. Glass shattered everywhere, covering the hardwood floor in it's shards. I stood my ground as the man I called my father neared. He stood, almost half a foot taller than me, his misty blue eyes staring at me, full of disgust and hatred. I have disappointed him. Again. This, was after all, no surprise. I always disappoint him. My father is not a bad man, in fact, he is a very good man. He practically is the British government for God's sake, we'd be lost without him. But the stress...it must be the stress. Of course that's it. He just gets to the point where it's too much and he just explodes. Drinking helps. He gets so drunk the only thing he remembers the next morning is the pounding headache he's left with. I always clean up the mess he makes. I always hide my bruises. I never show him that I'm hurt. I never show anyone. I am strong. And I will not disappoint my father more than I already have.  
"Are you even listening to me you goddamn ungrateful child?"  
"Of course father." I try to keep my voice even and strong. I fail.

"Liar" he snarled. "Don't lie to me you hear? DON'T LIE TO ME" In a simple stride his fist connects to my nose. I hear the snap before I feel it. Glass sews its way into my skin as I lay helplessly on the floor. My father glares down at me, his eyes cold and unforgiving.  
"That ought to teach you." He downs the rest of his beer before dropping it onto the floor, allowing it to fracture into a thousand pieces. The left over beer, mixes with my blood and glass, painting a picture of hopelessness. For half a moment my father almost looked regretful. It didn't last.  
"Now, clean up this mess before your mother sees it." I nodded, knowing if I could find a voice, the weakness would soak through. And I couldn't let him see how weak I was.

 I sit there, bloody and bruised on the floor for what could have been hours, or perhaps just minutes. When finally the glass had worked its way too far up flesh, I slowly rise to my feet. I take my time removing the shards off beer and vase from my palms, before wrapping them carefully in gauss. I'm not quite sure what to do with my nose, so I leave it, bloody dripping at a steady pace. I hardly remember cleaning up the glass, and mopping up the beer, yet somehow in less than two hours the floor was spotless. My nose had stopped dripping, and the painkillers had definitely came into effect. I sat in my kitchen for another two and a half hours, sleeping lightly, too afraid to walk past my father in case he was still in one of his moods. Once the clock read 1 am I tiptoed past the living room. I counted my father's snores as I slithered up the stairs and silently locked myself in my room. It was there that I broke down. I curl up in the corner on my bed, burying my face in my hands. My knees are drawn to my chest as I weep. However after a while, weeping isn't enough, not even for me. I dry my tears and walk over to my desk. For a few minutes I sit on my wooden chair, fingers sprawled limply across my laptops keyboard. But eventually I begin to type.

_Dear Soldier #5082194_

_Um hello. My name is Sherlock Holmes. I am a lonely bastard, and honestly I'm really hoping you are too. Please help me, I'm in great need of a friend._

I sat, and I sat, staring blankly at the paper. Hardly a letter to start out I figure. I delete every last word, all 30 of them, and start again.

_Dear Soldier #5082194  
 My name is Sherlock Holmes. I'm 18 years old, and this is my last year in school. My last year before I can leave home, and live on my own. The last year before I can finally get away from my father's stress drinking, and never touch alcohol ever again. This is my last year see, my last year before my new life begins. _

There is 64 words this time, and just like the last, the only thing I keep the same is the greeting. The temptation to throw something burned in my viens, and my desire to take Jim up on his offer of getting me some drugs was almost too much to handle. I ignored everything, except for the small rectangular screen in front of me. I am writing to a soldier, he won't give two shits about my problems. He'll make fun of me for being weak. I can't let him see. I won't let him see. I begin to type again, this time with my head held high.

_September 14, 2012_

_Dear Soldier #5082194  
  Hi so, I'm going to be completely honest. I'm not writing out of the "goodness of my heart" as there is really none there, nor am I writing on my own free will. It's this English assignment you see. We're supposed to write letters back a forth with a soldier for the whole semester. Than we have to write an essay on them. Or something like that. I'm not a hundred percent sure, I wasn't exactly listening. English class is so dull. It's stupid that it's mandatory every year don't you think?_

_I suppose I should probably tell you about myself. Not like you care or anything. I mean, I'm sure you have better things to do, but here it goes anyways. My name is Sherlock Holmes. I'm 18 years of age, and this is my last year in school. Mycroft is trying to get me to apply for university but I refuse. More schooling won't do any good. It'll simply re-teach me what I already know. I have absolutely no desire to go, none whatsoever. However, my brother, as well as my father, practically are the British government so I suppose I can't really do all that much to go against them._  
   
  Mycroft is my brother, if you haven't figured that out already. I hate not seeing you in person. I mean if I had even caught a simple glance of you I would have been able to deduct a great deal of things about you. But this, writing letters, it's more than a little strange I say. I can't tell a single thing about you. Not until you write back that is. 

_I'm assuming the polite "proper" thing to do now is ask about you, so here it goes. What's your name soldier number 5082194? How old are you? What's it like being in the army? Have you killed a lot of people? What happened to your family, and why aren't you writing them? I'm sure you'll do quite well thinking of more things to tell me, so I guess I can just leave it at that. Hmm well, that wasn't quite as annoying as I figured it might be._

I paused. My fingers hovered over the letters.I felt bad, I knew I was overly harsh and cruel. But I didn't care. He is a soldier, somehow, he'll survive without my kindness, as I have none left to give. I let my eyes droop half way close as I type my farewell, allowing part of my true self to show. I couldn't bare to send it without some sort of good wishes. Part of me realizes that this could be the chance for that new beginning I was hoping for. Maybe, just maybe, me and soldier #5082194 are in this together. We're both fighting our own battles. We are both fighting for our lives. We don't know how many more day we'll get to see, or how many more nights we'll meet. I almost smile as I type my farewell, and a spark of hope is ignited inside me. 

_Stay Safe.  
Sherlock Holmes _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I try to ignore the loneliness that threatens to swallow me whole. Mummy offers to make me a cup of tea which I accept gratefully. I smile at her, and pretend that it brings me hope. But it doesn't. What a truly sad day it is, when not even a cup of sweet tea can render me whole.

“Okay, everyone chatting time is up. Let's quiet down" 3, 2, 1. "Or else I shall have to start handing out detention slips" ah there we go: silence. Mrs. Noark was finally learning how to properly handle a group of high strung 18 year olds. Sally slid into the chair next to me, sneaking a few glances my way. I pretend not to notice. Which was ridiculous; it's me, I notice everything.  
"I see those bruises are finally going away" why she continued to point out the obvious is still a mystery. "Why won't you tell me how you got them freak? Did you get in a fight?" I ground my teeth together in an attempt to ignore her. I don't point out the fact she and Anderson had shagged the previous night, despite the fact he's dating a college student. I don't point out the fact that her father isn't coming back, and I don't point out that her mother is unlikely to ever get off the bottle. So many things I could have pointed out, but I didn't. I kept quiet, and I didn't show off. Instead I waited for the teacher to begin. The class slowly trickled by, each minute seemed double it's actual time. I all but jumped out of my seat when the bell singled our dismissal.  
"Before you leave, I want to hand back the letter from your soldier"

 They wrote back? They wrote back!! Mrs. Noark slowly walked up and down the aisles, handing out the letters one by one. A nervous energy passes through me, which was quickly controlled by drumming my finger tips gingerly on my knee cap. Sally was too busy making goo goo eyes at Anderson to notice. She also failed to notice the look of absolute sheer disappointment when the teacher dismissed the class and I had still not received my letter. I waited until the room was empty before approaching her desk.  
"uh Mrs. Noark.." I cleared my throat, uncertain of what exactly to say next. "I think you may have forgotten to give me my letter" she looked up, her eyes looking over her glasses instead of through them. What was the point of wearing glasses if you weren't even going to use them? I shook my head slightly to dismiss the thought.  
"Oh Sherlock. Well no, I didn't forget you. You're letter just hasn't arrived yet." suddenly I couldn't breathe. Odd, when had a lump lodged itself into my throat? I forced myself to swallow.  
"I don't quite understand what you mean.." She reached out her hand to pat my shoulder softly.  
"Don't worry about it. Some people just take longer to respond that's all" She smiled, but her words were untrue, and she knew it. She removed herself from the classroom, but I remained, frozen in place. After a few minutes I nodded slowly to myself. It was stupid to get so worked up over something so stupid. Stupid, yeah stupid. I repeated it until I began to believe it. But deep inside, I wasn't fooling anyone.

"Heya Sherlock" Molly's cheerful voice sounded from across the crowded field. She held her letter tightly to her chest. I tried to smile. "Did you get a letter? What's your soldier's name? Mine's name is Mike. Mike Stamford. He seems like such a nice chap, I would so much like to meet him one day. Do you think we'll get to Sherlock? What do you think of yours?" her face fell. "Sherlock what's wrong?" Her hand hovered over my shoulder for a heartbeat, before resting completely. Something about her touch was so soothing. Almost as if I could heal my wounded soul. But it couldn't.  
"Nothings wrong. And I didn't get a letter" She gasped, her mouth hanging open.  
"Why not? What happened to it?" I shrugged.  
"Lost in the mail?" I offered. "Look I don't really care. It's just a stupid letter" She rolled her eyes.  
"Yeah only a 'stupid letter' you need to graduate. You know how much this project is worth." I shoved her gently.  
"Don't be dull, Molly" She shoved back.  
"I'm not being dull. Now go write that git another letter, and demand a response." She flashed me a wide grin before bounding off to her next class, French.  
"Hey Sherlock, wait up!" I didn't need to turn around to know who was behind me. I turned anyways.  
"Hey Jim" Not another word was spoken as we walked to Philosophy, and I was grateful for his silence.

*

 Bottles smashed down below, making a racket like thunder. I turned up my music, classical, my favourite. I sat at the laptop, once again debating what to say to my unknown officer. What to say, and how real to be. Maybe I was being to abrupt. Or maybe not quite enough. I sighed, leaning back enough to just begin to worry about falling backwards off my chair. I rested my eyes until sleep threatened to overthrow my conciousness. I shook the drowsiness from my head, and walked across the hall to the bathroom. All was silent downstairs. My father had gone to bed. Or out. I don't care, and I'm not about to try and find out. I take care in stepping lightly, just in case, as I look at myself in the oval shaped mirror. Sally had been right when she said the bruises were fading. My skin was less purple, and more pale. My nose hadn't broken, thank god, but my top lip had been busted enough to need stitches. I gave them to myself. Doctors ask too many questions.  
 I wash my face before making my way silently back to my bedroom. I lock the door behind me before diving onto my bed. My laptop rests on my pillow and I begin to type. Not sure about what I'm saying until it's ink on paper. I look it over, and can't help the overwhelming shame that washes over me. I sink my teeth into my lower lip as I rip the letter into unrecognisable chunks. I start again.

_October 1, 2012_

_Dearest Soldier #5082194_

_Well thanks for writing me back. Not. That was sarcasm, just in case you're one of those dumb gits who can't tell. Why didn't you write back? Everyone else's soldier wrote back. You're not dead are you? No, obviously you're not, because my teacher would have assigned me a new soldier. So what the hell is wrong with you? Do you want me to fail? Write back damn it!_

 I pause, take a deep breath. This was no way to make friends. 

  _Okay sorry about that. I was kind of mad. I still am in all honesty. I just took a little break from writing in order to calm myself down. I truly am I bit hurt. I know I can be harsh sometimes, but I didn't think it would be enough to make you not write me back. You see, I'm not the easiest person to get along with, I believe sentiment is pointless, and friends just slow you down.  I usually think it's kinder just to be blunt and honest. Sure it may sting a bit at first, but in the end it's better. Usually._

_A man with the name of Mike Stamford is the soldier writing Molly. She's my friend. Or the closest thing I have to one I suppose. I guess it's easier calling her that, a friend, than classmate. Well, he asked for her picture, and I don't think that's the best idea because for all we know he could be a paedophile  Do you know this Mike character? If so please let me know if he is indeed a paedophile, I can stop Molly from sending him her picture. She's quite the innocent girl, and I'd hate for him to find her when he comes back and do things that I shall not mention just in case my teacher ends up reading our letters after all. She threatened to you know. She "doesn't want to, because letters should be private" but apparently she's not even certain that I really am writing you. Wish is silly, don't you think? I mean, why would I send you blank letters? I may hate English, but even I wouldn't do that. I'm not cruel you know. Well, not on purpose._

_Do I intimidate you? Molly says I do that sometimes. She and our other friend Jim (again friends, but not really. It's weird), always say I intimidate the other students with my boldness. And my intelligence. She says Sally and Anderson simply call me names because they're jealous of me. I pretend to believe her, so she doesn't think I'm sad. I'm not. Naming calling is so second grade. I hardly mind being called "freak". I am one, a freak, after all. No shame._

_Yeah so write back okay mate? Because if you don't I could fail this course. And if I do that I'll have to take it again next semester which means taking out one of my sciences. I'm sure you understand my situation. Talk soon.  
  SH. _

 My eyes could be held open no longer. I allowed my imagination to create a soldier. To create a letter he would write back to me, and how we would become friends. Because I may not admit it, but I do care about people, and I do have friends. I want friends. Because I am human.

*

"Sherlock! Can I see you for a moment!"

 My letter? Had it finally arrived? I excitedly hustled over to Mrs. Noark. My excitement evaporated as soon as I noticed the look she wore on her face.  
"What? What is it?" She let out a heavy sigh. How long had she been holding that inside?  
"It's your letter Sherlock" I don't dare breathe. "It still hasn't come." I let the breath go. I try not to show my disappointment but I can tell she sees right through my mask. "It'll come Sherlock" her voice softened "Just keep writing okay?" I nodded. All I could do was nod. Even soldier number 5082194 didn't like me, and we had never met. Maybe a disappointment is all I really am, because I'm beginning to disappoint everyone, including myself.

*

_October 17, 2012_

_Dear Soldier #5082194_

_Hey look, I'm sorry if any of my previous words offended you. I was too harsh, and for that I apologise. Although, don't tell anyone that because it would kind of ruin my reputation as a heartless bastard. We'll just keep this our little secret okay?_

_I really would like to your name.  
Sherlock. _

*

 I wait for my letter. I wait every day, hoping it'll come. But it never does. I'm beginning to lose hope. I'm beginning to wonder if soldier number 5082194 even exists, or maybe I'm the one who's invisible.

*

_October 29, 2012_

_Dear Soldier #5082194_

_Why aren't you writing back? You're the one that signed up for this bloody program, so why the hell aren't you responding? You're the one that wanted this mate, not me. So why am I the only one making an effort here?_

_Everyone has received several letters from their soldier. But not me. No, I'm sitting here waiting for someone to write me back who appears to be a fucking ghost. I mean I don't even know your name! I have to keep referring to your number because you're so goddamn stubborn! Why won't you just talk to me!!?_

_Molly has gone off and sent her photograph to pedo Mike, no thanks to you . What if he is a paedophile? I swear if he harms her in any way I am holding you partly responsible. If you had just wrote back than none of this worrying would be necessary because I would just fucking know the answer! I mean can't you just tell me your bloody name??  
SH. _

*

I wait. I wait, and I wait. But the letter still doesn't come. I try again.

*  
 _November 4, 2012_

_Soldier #5082194_

_Please. Just tell me your name. Let me know you're safe. Please, anything._

_Stay Safe,  
Sherlock. _

*

It came.

*

_November 10, 2012_

**_Watson. My name is John Watson._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always welcome constructive critism! Let me know what you think


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Seriously though Sherlock, you totally have a crush on him"
> 
> I ignore Molly's teasing and continue my meal. Sherlock Holmes does not have crushes. I mean, I hardly can deal with my own mother for more than a few hours, how does someone expect me to be able to handle a life time? At the same time, a life time with him by my side, doesn't seem too bad.

   I hardly sleep that night. I'm not surprised when I rise the next morning looking like a half drowned cat. I don't care. He wrote. John wrote.

  
 The morning passes like a snail being dragged through molasses. Each minute that trickles by adds a handful more seconds to the next one. I try to be patient, I really do, but I know it's not working. By the time lunch arrives I’m too tired to speak, too tired to do anything except to think, think about my soldier. My John.  
"..and then...Sherlock?" Molly's voice broke into any waking thoughts that remained. "Sherlock are you even listening to me?" she scolded, her voice thick with annoyance. I offered a small smile.  
"Of course. Sorry Molly. I guess I was just..."  
"Thinking about his soldier." Jim. He grinned at Molly before taking a seat beside me. He fumbled with the wrapper which contained his crisps, before slowly admitting one onto his tongue. Hmm that was odd. Jim never eats like this. It seemed...almost sexual. Was he trying to seduce Molly? The thought of Molly and Jim ever being a couple was momentarily amusing.  
"Your soldier? Sherlock, you mean he wrote back?" she gushed, her words escaping in a fluid rush. I tried to hide by joy, but it was hardly any use."What did he say? Tell us about him?!" Molly squealed. I grimaced. What would I tell them? He had only left me his name.  
"Yeah, lover boy. It must be pretty interesting if it's kept you up all night. You look like you've been hit by a truck." Jim sneered. The smile evaporated from my face. Sometimes I think Jim has a superpower; mood ruining. Molly frowned.  
"Shut up Jim." he just laughed. "What's his name?" I flashed her a grin, thankful for her everlasting kindness.  
"John Watson."  
"That's a nice name. I can't wait to hear more about him." Neither can I, I think, neither can I.

  
*

  
"Sherlock, would you be a dear and help me with the dishes"  
"Of course mother."

  
  My mother stands by the sink, her hands hidden in soapy water, bubbles crawling up her forearms. I stand next to her and automatically grab a towel. As I begin to dry the dishes I allow my mind to wander. How did Jim know I got my letter? Mrs. Noark hadn't given it to me until the end of class once everyone had left. And I certainly didn't tell anyone. I refused to even open it until I had arrived at home, with the door was locked tightly behind me. So how did he know? And why did he call me lover boy? I know nothing about this man, he could be old and ugly for all I know. But I hope he isn't. I hope he's young, and athletic. I hope he's charming and kind. I hope, I hope he doesn't hate me like everyone else does.

   I finish the dishes beside my mother, thankful for her company. Father must be out with his friends. Poker game I assume. Not many things baffle me, but how my father manages to be a deadbeat drunk, and still maintain such a high rank in the government is beyond me. I don't understand, and chances are I never will.  
"Mycroft is planning on paying a visit tomorrow" Mummy hardly ever spoke, so it was easy for me to forget how quiet and fragile her voice is.  
"Oh, fantastic" I grumble, puffing a breath of air through my nostrils.  
"What are you a dragon?" she scoffed lovingly. I smiled. "You'll be good to him won't you? You know how much fighting bothers your father."  
"Of course mummy. I wouldn't dream of it." She places her dainty hand on my face, stroking my jawline gently with her forefinger. I bask in the warmth that radiates from her palm.  
"That's my boy." she whispers. "Now come give you mummy a kiss." Willingly I obey, planting a warm kiss to her soft cheek. Never in my 18 years of life have I met a more sweet, perfect woman. However, her best friend, Mrs. Hudson, was a close second. The older woman came over for tea every other day, and I was more than grateful. Mrs. Hudson is what keeps my mother going. Mrs. Hudson is her savior, and for that, I will ever be in her debt. My mother deserves so much more than what this life has offered her. She deserves more than a drunk husband, who failed miserably at being a father. She deserves to be happy. I wish I could make her happy.

  I complete any homework I have left over, after the house is spotless. I take great care in making sure not a single hair is out of place. A mess always angers father. I realize I haven't eaten supper yet, but that doesn't matter. Eating really isn't all that important. I sit at my laptop, deciding what to write next. So much to say, so much I want to know.

   _Thank you, John. Thank you for writing. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I had almost given up hope. Please don't do that again. Please write me back. I look forward to this a surprising amount. More than I should. This isn't just some school project any more, John. I want to get to know you. I want to become your friend. So what do you think, can we be friends? Write back. Please._

Too needy, I decide. I don't want him to think I'm a total loser. I start again.

   _Your letter made my day, probably my entire week. Please write again._

No good. No good at all. That's just pathetic. Deep breath, start again.

_November 17, 2012_

_Dearest John,_  
 _You wrote back! Man, took you long enough. Seriously though, I was beginning to give up on you._  
 _So John, yeah? That's a nice name. What kind of stuff do you like then, John? What are your interests? What's the war like? Have you killed many people? How old are you? Why didn't you write back before? Do you know Mike Stamford? Is he a paedophile? I really would like to know, even though Molly has already sent her letter, so I suppose it's a little late for that. However I still would still like to know if it's not too much to ask. I mean he seems like a decent enough fella, but looks can be deceiving._  
 _Thank you for writing. I eagerly await your response._  
 _SH._

  
*

  
It took exactly a week and a half, 10 days, for my next letter to arrive. Excitement crawled up my spine.  
"hey Sherlock! Are you dropping by tonight?" I looked up from the crumpled tea stained letter. Molly stood 7 inches away, her eyes round with pleasure. She had read her letter from Mike. She was happy. I would hate to be the one to ruin her mood. I blame Mycroft. I always blame Mycroft.  
"It'll have to wait until tomorrow I'm afraid" she stuck her lower lip out into a pout. "Mycroft.." I started, prepared to explain my impossible situation. She held her hands up as if to stop me.  
"Say no more. A little family time will do you good". And with that, she turned on her heels and was on her way. I smiled after her. She was one of the only good things in my life, and I honestly don't know what I'd do without her. As I turned to go I debated walking by the long black car with tinted windows, but instead I climb inside, knowing Mycroft would be waiting.  
"Greetings Sherlock" sure enough, Mycroft sat with his legs crossed, and umbrella sitting next to him. I huffed my hello before buckling up across from him. Typical Mycroft, picking me up in what could very well be a miniature limo. "How was school?"  
"Fine" I answered bluntly, gazing out the window. He didn't seem satisfied with my response.  
"I hear Mrs. Noark is your English teacher." I groaned, but he continued. "She is really a wonderful lady. She always came up with the most interesting projects." I rolled my eyes. I knew exactly where this was going. "I heard about the project you’re doing now in fact"  
"Is that so?" I mocked.  
"Yes. Sounds quite interesting. Care to tell me about your soldier?” We pull into our driveway, and I undo my seatbelt with lightning speed.  
"No."  
I leap from the car and jog inside. Mummy is cooking alongside Mrs. Hudson. I greet them both with a hug and kiss on the cheek.  
"My, look at you Sherlock, you're getting so big. You must be half my height by now!" the elderly woman chimed. No, she is half _my_ height. I don’t correct her.  
"It's wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Hudson. You really should come around more often, when I'm not at school" she grinned, resting her hand on my bicep, as my shoulder was too high for her to reach comfortably.  
"I'll do my best." she chimed. "now you go get washed up, and rest yourself. Your mother, or I, will call you when supper is ready." I nodded eagerly, thanking the women, before turning to leave. I was in such haste to get to my room that I hardly noticed father was home. Not a single bottle was in sight. Too early for that yet. He sat on the plaid couch, his weary face sunken in his palms.  
"Good evening father" I called gently. He didn't look up, nor did he even show any signs of hearing me. I tried not to let it get under my skin, but it did. When he was drunk he showed a little too much attention to me, but when he was sober, I don't get so much as a nod to let me know he's heard. I make a silent vow that if I'm ever a father, I will be nothing like him.

   I bound up the stairs until I've arrived the safety of my room. I pounced on my bed, tearing away carefully at the packaging that hid my letter. I make sure I'm comfortable before reading the first paragraph.

**_November 24, 2012_ **

**_Sherlock,_ **  
**_I know Mike. You can stop worrying, he's not a pedophile. He's my best mate actually. He's a good lad._ **

I let out a sigh of relief before continuing to read.

**_I am 21 years old. I'm not very tall, but I make up for it with muscle and speed. I've always wanted to be a doctor, and I was actually in medical school before I joined the army. One day I hope to return and finish my studies. I have dirty blond hair, and dark blue eyes, almost grey I reckon._ **

**_I can't be too sure about the last time I had a proper shower, or something sweet to eat. It's weird, the things you miss when you're trapped out here. It's not like there ain't good to us though. They're wonderful. Every week we stop at a base, or we try. We stop, rest up, phone our families, and every few base has wifi so we can skype our loved ones. But there is never showers. I can't even remember what soap smells like. It's just 'jump into the lake, wash up best you can, then back at it you go'. Dreadful business really. The first few weeks are quite awkward, having to bathe naked in front of everyone, even the girls. But then you get used to it. Soon, it's just part of the everyday routine. Now it's hard to get some of the lads to put clothes on! I think it's safe to say we're all pretty shameless; we're a pretty tight group. We all know everything about everyone.  Well almost everything. We all have our secrets to which we only share with those back home. I guess I just wish I had someone back home to share my secrets with. But that's just me being a sap._ **  
**_Oh yeah and like I mentioned earlier, the sweets. Haven't gotten any of them for a real long time. I swear the cravings you get over here are worse than a teenage girl on her period. Seriously though, all we eat is bread, canned vegetables, overly tough meat, and of course tea. A cup of tea in the morning never fails to place a smile on my face. Reminds me of home._ **

**_Well I suppose you have lots to do, homework and social stuff. I hope to hear from you again soon Sherlock,_ **  
**_John Watson._ **

*

  I don't waste a single second to begin my next letter. The thrill I get from writing him, reading his letters, it can't be healthy. When have I ever cared so much about someone? Especially someone whom I have never met before? It just doesn't make sense. My head swarmed in thoughts of John, and what he might look like. Every image I found wasn't quite right; it didn't quite suit his name, and the way he spoke. I want to meet him. I want to hear him, I want to touch him. I want to observe him, and memorize each and every little thing about him. I just want John. And I can't even tell you why. So I don't try to. I just write. I write, and write, until I can write no more, because at this point, I'm honestly surprised I haven't already told him my whole life's story.

_November 27, 2012_

_Dearest John,_  
 _21 years old huh? That's only 3 years difference from me. It's actually a relief, knowing you're not an old creep who prays on youngsters such as myself, and that you yourself are in fact a youngster._

_Medical school, wow. Mycroft says I should get into that, but I disagree. I am nowhere near kind enough. But at least I'd be honest. All doctors do is lie. They say things like 'Oh you'll be fine' and 'I'm sure you'll make it through' even though it's a complete load of rubbish. If you were about to die, wouldn't you like to know? I would never lie to you. Or anyone. Your health is something you should know about. I suppose you, on the other hand, probably have no trouble telling someone they're fine when indeed they are not. But yet again, you've seen people die in front of you. You've had them bleed out in your arms. I can't even begin to image._

_Soap hmm? What kind of soap did you use before? Lavender has always been my personal favourite. What's the war like? How often do you kill people? Why don't you talk to your family? Why do you talk to me? Nobody talks to me. Do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Wife, Husband? I figure I should cover all my bases if I ask such a controversial question. Man the debates people get into just small things. Like I don't understand it. It's funny almost. I mean, I'm smart, like genius smart. I can practically deduce anything about anyone, but the choices humans make continue to baffle me. Why can't people think John? Why can't people just think?_

_Alright, so I'm kind of rambling now. The truth is, I just feel so lonely sometimes. Don't tell anyone though. I know, I have a lot of things I don't want you to repeat. But I trust you. I don't even know why. I mean, I've never even met you before. So tell me, why have I decided to chose you, John Watson, to trust of all people? Let me know if you have the answer, as I would very much like to know._

_Your new friend (I can call you that right? A friend? Are we friends John? I hope so. Let's be friends.),_  
 _SH._

_*_

_**December 08, 2012** _

_**Sherlock,** _  
_**I have a little bit more time to write today, so I suppose I can tell you about the war.** _  
_**It's not at all like on the tele. I wanted to be an army doctor at first, as you already know, but all the schooling necessary is nuts. I was at school before I came here, before I became a soldier. I loved it. School I mean. It was nice, lot's of late night studying, and failed relationships. I was in the middle of my second year when I left to train for the army. You see for the most part, war is quiet , peacefully almost. It's not until we're attacked, or we go on a raid that there's really any action. But yes, I have killed people. More than I like to admit. I try not to lose sleep on it. It doesn't always work. We're taught to try not to even think of them as humans. To try and forget about all their friends and family's at home. And in the moment, it's quite easy to forget. But then that night, you're laying in your sleeping bag and your mind starts to wander. You start to think about if the person you killed. If they were married, and had children. You think about the life you just took, how you played God. You try to remember the reasons why, and how it was necessary, but sometimes it's hard. Christ, it's hard Sherlock. I hate it. I love the action, the rush I get from danger is unbelievable. But I wish I could do it without having to kill someone. Without having to ruin a family, a life.** _

_**I can't wait to come home Sherlock. I can't wait to eat normal food like crisps and chips. I can't wait to be able to stuff my face with ice cream and have tea at cafés. I want to listen to music, and I want to watch crap tele. I can't wait to see my family, even my sister. And I especially can't wait to meet you, face to face.** _  
_**Whoa, slow down there Sherlock. I can only answer so many random questions at a time. And I might add that you ask some pretty weird shit mate. I suppose Lavender is my favourite scent too. Skittles. I love skittles. Like a lot. A lot, a lot. That's probably the food I miss the most. Along with fresh chips. My mouth is watering, just thinking about all this.** _

_**Man, I'm getting pretty tan. Or maybe I'm just stained from all this dirt. Guess I'll never know haha. Family huh? Well I guess I some. I just don't get on very well with my sister. She's kind of a drunk. And my mum is quite old and fragile you see. The war upsets her, so we don't speak much. Girlfriend? No, not since the beginning of uni. Boyfriend? Slept with one once. A bloke, I mean. But never had an actual boyfriend before. Husband or wife? Definitely not. Single, as single can be. Haven't even had a proper snog in over a year. Which is nuts. I'm quite the horny bastard.** _

_**Tell me more about yourself. I still have no idea what you look like. But boy, do I want to know. Write back.** _  
__

_**John Watson.** _

*

_December 14, 2012_  
  
 _John,_  
 _Write back? Of course I'm going to write back. I will always write back John. Which actually reminds me, why didn't you? And don't avoid the question this time!_

_Ew, okay, you seriously need a shower. I packed you some soap. And some skittles too. I figured crisps would only get too crushed. I hope they remind you a little of back home._  
 _Have you been on any raids recently? Please inform me before you do, as I would very much like to know. I worry about you constantly. But I worry even more when I don't know what you're up to. Also, I would very much like to meet you someday, so make sure you stay safe. Lots of love,_  
 _SH._

_*_

_  
_As John's letters started rushing in, time around me seemed to wurl by. I hardly noticed anything else anymore. My father hardly gets the chance to hit me, as I am always in my room, hidden, and writing. I must have written a hundred letters, chosing only the best ones to send to John. I carry his letters with me everywhere. I feel proud, knowing I have him. Knowing he's my friend. My best friend. We had never even met, yet he seemed to care for me anyways. That is just one of the many reasons that John Watson is someone I will never understand, and someone I never want to. As I, am more than content with the mystery that is John Watson.

*

 

_**December 23, 2012** _

_**Sherlock,** _  
_**Happy (almost) Christmas!** _

_**You know, I don't cry very often, but when I opened your letter, I literally began to sob. I actually sat there, for a good five minutes, hugging the presents, hugging the letter. It imagined it was you. So imagine me hugging you. Don't worry though, I made sure my tears didn't soak through your letter. But I’m serious. It’s just like Christmas morning.** _

_**I took a shower today. Not a proper one obviously. Haven't had one of those for a good long while. No, I just jumped in the lake. You know, buck nude. I didn't even care who was watching, not one bit. I took my sweet ol' time, scrubbing away carefully at my dirt stained skin. All the other lads are super jealous. I don't share though, not even with Mike. I sleep with it under my pillow. Not even kidding. And then those sweet, heavenly, skittles. I let Mike have one of those. Just one. That's all I allow anyone to have, even myself. I want to make them last.** _  
__  
_**I eagerly await your next letter,** _  
_**John.** _

_***** _

  
_December 30, 2012_

_John,  
 Merry Christmas John._

_Weird things are happening. My friend Molly, you know, the one I told you about earlier? Anyways, she has been disappearing a lot lately. Like at lunch time one minute she'll be sitting with Jim and I, and the next, she'll be, poof, gone. And then Jim, Jim is just weird. Period. I mean, I don't even know how to describe him. He's very proper. Comes to school, dressed up all nice every single day. He truly is a genius, perhaps smarter than me even. More mischievous though. And yes, that is possible. But I mean Jim has been acting weirder than normal. Suddenly he's walking me to every class, and his hair is never out of place. He sits too close, and I catch him staring. What's happening John, and how do I make it stop? I swear he almost tried to kiss me today in the boys toilet. I managed to duck out just in time, but it was too close for my liking._

_My father is off on some kind of trip with work. He's in America. I wonder what it's like there, if it's exciting. I've been to France, Germany, Ireland, even Mexico, but never the States. My mother would really like to go to Canada. She's always wanted to go there. Mostly because my father hates it I think. I don't know why, seems like a decent enough country. England and Canada have always been closely aligned so I figure my father, being part of the government and all, should love it. Maybe he thinks they're becoming too powerful. I don't really know. I never really do with my father._

_Can I tell you a secret about my father? Well, he's a really nice bloke. Or at least I imagine he is. It's just his job, it really stresses him out. He doesn't talk much, in fact he doesn't talk at all. He usually ignores my existence. But then, he'll find the bottle. It poisons him John, I swear it does. It turns him into this monster and he's so terrifying. He screams, he curses, he abuses. I don't like that word abuse, but I guess it makes sense here. I'm worried about my mother. She won't leave him, she can't. He makes all the money. It's just, she can't take the beatings. Soon it'll be all too much for her. See, I can take it. I don't even cry any more. It's weird, I almost don't even feel it. It's not until I see blood gushing from a gash on my palms, or that I taste the familiar salty tang on my tongue that I realize how angry he really is._

_It's all my fault really. I don't try, but I just get him so angry. I disappoint him. I disappoint everyone. I try so hard John, I clean the house, I make sure it's spotless. I make my family dinner, I do the dishes. I do everything. I try, and I try, but it's not good enough. It will never be good enough. I will never be good enough._

_Sorry, emotion rush. Guess I'm on my man period or something. Write back quickly,_  
 _SH._

_***** _  
_**January 04, 2013** _

_**Sherlock,** _  
_**Sherlock listen to me, you are good enough. Your fathers anger, his drinking, none of that is your fault. You do not disappoint everyone. You make people happy Sherlock, I can see it in the way you describe people and their actions towards you. And I've read Mike's letters, I know what Molly says about you. Sherlock you make an impact on people's lives, my life, that can not be reversed. It'll never go away, no matter what. You've filed a hole in me Sherlock. A hole I didn't even know existed. But now, I feel whole. You have completed me, and I just want you to know, no matter what, you will never disappoint me. You are good enough. In fact you are too good. Stop it, be less good. It's not fair.** _

_**Awww somebody has a crush on Sherlock. Jimmy likes Sherlooooock. Ooh man, you shouldn't tell me these things, I'm absolutely starving for anything good to gossip about. Is he cute? Do you like him back? I bet you do, and you just won't admit it. There's no cute boys here Sherlock, it's dull. No cute boys, no pretty girls. It's an absolute dud. Ugh Sherlock, I need to get out of here I'm so bored I don't even know what to do with myself. Mike is beside me, trying to convince me to play cards with him. I guess I will. So goodbye Sherlock Holmes, until we write again.** _

_**Yours,** _  
_**John.** _

_***** _

_January 11, 2013_

_John,_  
_Ew, he kissed me today. Not at all what I imaged kissing would be like. It was gross, way to wet. I tried kissing back. I figured backing away would be rude, but I couldn't handle it for very long. He shoved his tongue down my throat, John. Who kisses like that? Even just thinking about it makes me shiver. And not the good kind._

  
 _Good gossip eh? Yeah, I really don't having anything. Conducted a few new experiments today. Molly's mum is works at the morgue so she gets us some donated body parts every once and awhile. Nothing like testing on real human flesh! Other than that...I've really got nothing._

_Thank you John. I wish you could see the smile your words gave me as I read them. I read them over and over again. I can almost hear you saying them. Or I think I can. But then I remember that I haven't actually heard your voice yet. So yeah, we need to get on that. Pronto._

_Hope you kick Mike's ass in cards._  
 _SH._

_***** _

_**January 19, 2013** _

_**Sherlock,** _  
_**I'm going to call you! Like on a real telephone. I mean, if you want to. Every other Wednesday I get a phone call. Usually I call Harry, or my mum, but not this time. In three weeks, I am going to call you Sherlock Holmes. God Sherlock, I just want to know what your voice sounds like. I need to hear your voice.** _

_**Photographs are being taken in two days. I figure it's time to send you a picture or two. I'll send you some old ones as well. I very much hope that my next letter with include at least half a dozen photos of yourself, as well as your number.** _  
_**Raid in 6 days. I'll write again after.** _

_**Yours,** _  
_**John xo** _

_***** _

_January 21, 2013_

_John,_  
 _My number is enclosed along with 4 pictures of myself. The one is of my family and I. The weird looking one is Mycroft. I'm the more handsome one. You know, the one with curly hair. The young one. The second picture, is of Molly and I. That was taken no more than 3 weeks ago, after we won first place at the annual science fair. The other photo is a school photo. I'm honestly not sure why I sent it, all my school photos are complete rubbish. However Molly insisted, and I hate being the one to ruin her mood. Finally, we have the one of me playing my violin. Call me a nerd, but I'm totally in love with classical music. It's what keeps me going. You know, when times are tough. Composing helps me think. It's relaxing._

_Oh my goodness, two more weeks. I shall be living by the phone. But don't think this is an excuse to stop writing. I am expecting those pictures sir! I need pictures ASAP, no excuses._

_Is it just me, or did I just receive a hug and a kiss at the end of your last letter? Why John, I'm honoured. I suppose I shall just have to send you some as well. Tee hee._

_Yours,_  
 _SH. xo_

_***** _

My father isn't terribly drunk on this particular evening. Yet again, the night has just begun. I sit by the phone, not daring to move. The moment the phone rings I snatch it in my palms and run up the stairs, not daring to look over my shoulder. I don't waste another ring, I answer as quickly as humanly possible.  
"Hello?" Silence. Dead air. I was just about to hang up when a voice called out.  
"Is this Sherlock Holmes?" It's him.  
"Yes it is. This wouldn't happen to be Mr. Watson would it?" A slight chuckle crackles from the other line.  
"Mr. Watson? Ah yes, i suppose so." I can hear the smile in his voice. "But I think we're past formalities don't you?" Two minutes in, not even, one minute and 12 seconds to be exact, and my face already ached from grinning so widely.  
"I suppose we are. How are you, John?" Another chuckle.  
"Oh, I guess I'm alright. Can't complain really." pause. "you need to do something about your dad." That didn’t take long.  
"Yeah, it's called wait for you to come home so you can protect me." He laughed, slightly, uneasily.  
"Sherlock, it's hardly January, and I don't get back until August. I think you need a plan B."  
"No." I was pouting, but he couldn't see, so I really didn't care.  
"Stop sulking, Sherlock" wha- how could he tell? "I'm being serious" I winced at the wound of his harsh tone. But it wasn't like my father's. No, not at all. Anger was replaced with affection. Love. Does John love me? No. Nobody loves me.  
"So was I." I snapped back. I could almost feel him flinch through the phone. I instantly regret it.  
"Sherlock.." John's voice was gentle, soothing. He would make a good doctor  "Sherlock, promise to stay safe. You have to promise me Sherlock. Promise?"  
"I promise." My voice wavered. I hardly believe my own words, but John seemed satisfied. For the time being at least.  
"It's good to hear your voice." the man on the other line whispered.  
"You sound so much better than I had imaged" I purr. It was true. Listening to John speak was like basking in a sunbeam on a cold winters morning.  
"Sherlock" Hesitation. My eyes snap open. No. He was going to say goodbye. He doesn't need me any more. I was becoming too attached, He..  
"No, John, don't!" I screamed, unaware of the intensity in my voice. "You can't leave John! Not now. You're the only thing in this world that I care about." Tears spilled down my cheeks. I ignored them. My breathing quickened. I ignored it. The world around me begun to spin. I ignored that. John was all that mattered. And he was going to leave. He was going to leave just like everyone else. He couldn't leave. I need him. And _that_ I could not ignore. "I need you John. I need you to need me" I choked out.  
"Sherlock, I'm not going to leave you! Not now, not ever." My chest heaved as it was desperate to meet air. His voice was soft, smooth. I could drown in it.  
"Why wouldn't you? Everyone else does." My voice shrunk to match how I felt. Small. Invisible. Worthless.  
"Well, I'm not everyone else, Sherlock." the older man snapped. I wince, thankful no one is around to see how shameful I am. "Sherlock don't forget about Molly. She really cares for you, and she seems like such a sweet girl."  
"Run away with me John." I didn't realize what I was saying until the words had escaped from my lips. I know I should quickly take them back. I should apologize for the embarrassment I’m sure I’ve caused him. I should, but I don't. Instead, I repeat myself. "Promise you'll run away with me." Pause.  
"Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally more John yay. Thank you to everyone who is reading and leaving comments. I love knowing what you all think! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is somebody next to me as I awaken. The muscles in my lower back ached along with my arse, as I stirred. It was the stiff pain that filled my body that reminds me of the previous night. A night I wish I could forget, but know I never will.

 The days I find myself home alone are more than rare. It is for that reason, every time I have the house to myself I enjoy it the best I can. Cookies are in the oven, and steam pours from my bowl of soup. Everything seems to being going perfectly, and for once, I feel content. I am almost happy. In the middle of removing the biscuits from the oven, when a raspy knock sounds from the front door. There, 6 feet, 1 inch tall, stands the teenage genius Jim Moriarty. He wears a fitted grey tee, and a casual pair of denim jeans. It is perhaps the first time I have ever seen him in anything other than a suit and tie. Strange. Very, strange.

"Uh Jim. Hi."  
"Hello, Sherlock." Something about his smile created an uneasy flop in my stomach. What do I say?  
"Would you like to come in?" I ask, more because it's polite and less because I actually want too. His grin widens as he steps inside. He follows me into the kitchen and watches me as I remove the biscuits from the stove. He watches me carefully, his eyes study and memorize my every move. I shift uncomfortably.  
"Cookie?" I offer. "Fresh from the oven."  
"Yes, I can see that." he chuckles. "but yes, I'd love one. Please." I watch him eat. The melted chocolate coats his lips, and drizzles down his chin. All previous desire for food was long gone. All I want is for Jim to leave. Now. But he doesn't. Instead he helps himself to a glass of milk. He leans against the fridge, his eyes looking up from under his eyelashes.  
"So, Sherlock." he started. "I wanted to talk to you."  
"Yes, okay. I'm listening." He smiled. Chocolate stuck to his front tooth.  
"Well it's just, you seem to be avoiding me. You know, ever since we kissed." Yes, I think. Yes, I have been avoiding you. You scare me. Those were the words I longed to shout, but I didn't dare speak aloud.  
"That's ridiculous Jim. Why would I avoid you?" I lie. He steps closer. I can't move.  
"Oh thank goodness. I was beginning to wonder if you even still liked me." He took two more steps. Why couldn't I move? What was wrong with my legs? Why wouldn't they work?  
"Of course I like you Jim." I can't swallow. I can't even breathe. I can feel his breath hot and sticky against my neck. I feel like I'm drowning. I wish I was.  
"Then prove it." He whispers. I could scream. I long to just disappear. Disappear, and fall into John's arms. I don't want Moriarty. I don't want this.

  My eyes squeeze shut, I don't dare look at the boy in front of me. Lips meet lips, breath mixes together. His tongue works it's way to part my lips and slide into my mouth. I don't try to fight it. There's no point. Jim is too strong.

  Being with Jim felt nothing like it should. I always imagined my first kiss being sweet and passionate. I imagined I would be in love. I am not in love with Jim. Kissing him was a burning sensation, and not a very enjoyable one. It ate away at my soul until I begin to fear soon it will no longer be mine.

"Sherlock" he moans into my mouth. His tongue left a foul taste, a dryness in the back of my throat. _'Stick up for yourself Sherlock. Don't let anyone push you around'_. John's words repeated themselves in the back of my mind.  
"Jim, I can't do this." I squeak. He smirks. His eyes contained a venomous flame.  
"Oh, Sherlock" His fingers cup my face, holding it close to his. Too close. "Just relax. I know what I'm doing."  
"I don't want to Jim" I whimper. He chuckles softly.  
"Yes, you do Sherlock. Would you like to know why?" my lower lips trembles. I don't want to know. I want to die. I want Jim to leave. But I get none of those things. Instead Jim continues to suck away at the remaining life and joy that remains in my heart. And when he's done, I'm drained of it all. I am left naked, and broken, for the whole world to see. And I, am ashamed.

*

   _February 09, 2013_

_John,  
  You haven’t written me since our phone call a few days ago and that worries me. I know you promised that you’d write, and I know you promised to stay safe, I just can’t help it. I am terrified that something may have happened to you. That you have left me all alone. Don’t leave me John, please._

_My father is away on business again. My brother is sent to “look after me”. Just what I need, Mycroft to babysit me. Not. You know, I still don’t know how good you are with sarcasm.. I should probably figure that out so I don’t have to keep saying ‘not’ every time I say something sarcastic. Anyways, there is one good thing about Mycroft coming. He won’t hit me. He won’t even touch me, therefore, I do believe I am better off with him than my father. Even though he’s an insufferable bastard._

_John, I must inform you that you have a rather nice voice. And don’t even get me started on how adorable your giggle is. I will admit, I didn’t expect a soldier to giggle, especially one as terrifying as you. Seriously, though, I didn’t even know soldiers could even laugh anymore. I thought you guys were all desensitized or something. I mean, now I’m obligated to call you “girly soldier.” Oh and girly soldier, I’m stilling waiting on those pictures you promised. It’s only fair, you have mine after all. Please send me loads._

_I have something to tell you. I don’t know how to say it John. But it’s Jim. He came over, and he, he, well let’s just say he did things that I don’t wish to talk about. He knocked on my door John, what was I supposed to do, just leave him on the doorstep? All my life father has screamed about manners, and I guess for once I felt like I could do him proud. He came in, and started kissing me. I wanted him to stop John, I tried to get him to stop, but he just wouldn’t. He kissed me, and kissed me until my lips began to bleed. He stripped me of all my clothes and he... He said if I tell anyone he’ll hurt mummy. He’ll beat Molly until she’s hardly alive at all. I can’t let him do that, I just can’t. But I’m telling you this because, I have to tell someone. And you’re the only one I trust. Promise you won’t tell anyone, Promise John, you have to promise._

_Need some more candy? Soap? Razors? Anything, just let me know._  
Your teenage scientist,  
     
     SH. 

*

**_February 18, 2013_**

**_Sherlock,  
   I want to help. Tell me how I can help, anything at all. Including nothing, if that’s what you really want. But I know it’s not. You want him to stop. And I’m going to make this all go away Sherlock. We’re going to run away, just like we said earlier. Then I’m going to come back and take care of this Moriarty fella, and I am going to make it all go away, once and for all. Now that, Sherlock, is a promise. I promise, I will end this._ **

**_MY teenage scientist? Ooh, how did I get so lucky? Now I’m going to run around bragging about how I have my very own scientist. Luuuuuuucky me!!!_ **

**_How’s school going? I mean other than Jim. I hear you’re aloud to visit our families if you so choose. A piece of advice mate, leave mine alone. They’re a little off their rocker. You know, sometimes I wish I was back in highschool. I tell you, those were the days. Life was so easy back then. All you had to do was have the prettiest girlfriend, and you’re the coolest bloke on the planet. Ah well, I was never the guy anyways. My best friend was though. Greg Lestrade was his name. Total ladies man, and quite the stand up guy. He’s an officer now I believe. He also wanted to be a detective inspector, just like his daddy, and I have no doubt he will. Can’t be quite sure as to what he’s up to nowadays though, haven’t talked to him in ages. Wanna know why? Well, I honestly am bored out of my mind so I’m gonna tell you whether you want to know, or not._ **

**_Greg and his girlfriend had broken up you see. So me, being the best mate that I am, had to do everything in my power to keep his spirits up. It didn’t take much before we were completely blasted, being the young fellas that we were. Somehow, we ended up at my flat, and well, I’ll spare you the details, but before we knew it we were making out on my floor. The next morning we wake up naked, and covered in these hideous hickies. After that, he left and we haven’t spoke since. Weird, innit?_ **

**_Okay, okay, I attached some pictures. The one of me in my graduation gown is from my graduation day, obviously. The second is of me, my mother, and my sister. That was right before I went off to the war. The next one Mike took a few months back. I’m reading your letter. Jesus, I look like such an idiot. But at least you know, truly, how happy your letters make me. How happy you make me. And finally that’s just plain old me, taken just a week ago. I have trouble smiling for cameras, but I must have been caught off guard or something, because this one isn’t complete shit._ **

**_Well, a little more candy would be nice. Only if you don’t mind of course  
  John._ **

**_ps. I miss the sound of your voice already._**

*

_February 26, 2013_

_John,  
  Okay, don’t let this get weird but, you’re kind of beautiful. Like not in a girly way, more of a breathtaking, manly kind of way. You could get anyone you want with looks like those!!_

_Jim has been over a few times since. I hate it. I hate him. He hasn’t come since father returned though. I suppose God shows some pity on me. One beating is enough I suppose. Remember that skype you promised would happen on the 28? Yeah, well that better still be happening because I am more than looking forward to that. I can’t wait to see you, kind of in person. This is a big deal for me, and I can hardly breathe. I’m so excited._

_Of course I don’t mind silly, I am the one who offered you git. Another package of skittles are included, as well as some starbursts. Figured I’d add a little extra in there._

_Schools been alright. I mean, considering. It was much nicer having Mycroft around. But I don’t let him know that. We hate each other, it’s what we’re known for. I can’t let him know that in reality, I love him more than pretty much everything. It’s weird, but I guess that’s family for you. Science is lovely, i have a few ongoing experiments. Molly’s mom, the mortician, got us some cool body parts to test on. It’s not bad that I find that interesting is it? Testing on human flesh and stuff? Science is just so intriguing._

_So today, we were supposed to start planning what we want to do when we graduate. Apparently I can’t say I’m going to do nothing because they say I need a “plan”. They also don’t take very well to me saying I plan to run away with a soldier I’ve never actually met before, as soon as he comes home from war. So  career searching it is.  I found one job that I actually don’t completely despise. Now, don’t laugh, but I think a detective sounds cool. Like not a normal detective inspector, too many rules to follow. No, more like a private detective, but one the police consult. A consulting detective? Kind of has a nice ring to it if you ask me._

_Whoa, so you and Lestrade huh? Small world. He’s friends with my brother. I think Mycroft has plans to speed his time as an officer along so he can become a detective inspector faster. He seems like a nice enough bloke. My brother seems to fancy him well enough. I’m sorry you guys don’t talk anymore though._

_I didn’t know you were gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that though. I mean, I’m gay so... Okay, I’m going to shut up now._

_Another rainy day in London. It’s getting warmer though. I can’t believe it’s almost March already. I presented my project about you two weeks ago. I think it’s safe to say the class loved it. Which is surprising, I mean seeing every single one of them, with the exception of Molly and Mrs. Noark, hates my guts. I am officially all done my semester one exams. Simple. Aced every last one. Even English. Now I have Chemistry, Biology, Calculus, and French. Again, don’t laugh, I actually love French. It’s such a beautiful language. I lived in France for a while, with my father’s work. My mother is French too. I talk to her all the time, and having a language that father doesn’t understand is soothing. It’s like our own secret code. We don’t speak it when he’s drunk though. He thinks we’re keeping secrets then, and he hates secrets. Life is always more complicated when he’s around._

_I am going to be honest in saying you’re not at all what I imagined. Your hair is much blonder than you let it on to be. Although, I suppose it was darker before the war. I’m guessing the sun has a large part in that. You have a lovely smile John do not be ashamed of it. You’re lucky you can keep smiling, I mean, I can only imagine the damage you have seen. Keep fighting John, stay safe. I’ll talk to you soon._

_Sherlock Holmes._

*

I lay in bed, perfectly motionless. Mummy checks on me as she often did when I was little. She thinks I’m asleep, and that makes her happy. Mycroft knocks on my door five minutes later, not waiting for an answer before walking into my room. He sits on the bed, just a few inches away from where I lay. He opens his mouth to speak, then hesitates. He seems uneasy. I remain quiet.

“Something’s different Sherlock. I’m not blind you know.” he paused. He must be wondering if what he was about to say was a good idea. He must have went with yes because he continues. “He’s changed. It’s gotten worse.” He’s talking about father. He’s offering to try and help. So much I could say, so much I want to say. But I don’t. Instead, I sit there, staring at my 24 year old brother. After a few moments silence he nods. “Good night then.” I watch him leave. He hesitates my the door. “Sherlock. I’m here for you, if you ever need anything. If you need somewhere to stay for a couple nights, or even if you just want to talk.” The kindness in his voice surprises me. He wasn’t making it very easy for me to hate him.  
“Thanks.” Is all I manage to say before he wanders off. Seconds after he had left a loud _ding_ sounded from the corner of my room where my laptop sat. John.

   I lept up, hurling myself into the air, and pouncing on the rectangular device. I settle myself on the bed, crossing my legs and covering them with the covers, before answering the call. There were a few moments of awkward nothingness before a face appeared on the screen. His face. He sat perfectly straight, surrounded by dull, tile walls. He was in a shelter of sorts, a base. The familiar bland green and brown camouflage army uniform clung tightly to his body. Whatever fat he may have had to start out with, had turned into muscle. He bleached blond hair looked like the down on a chicks first coat. His eyes sparkled when they found mine. Dimples formed as he smiled, his tongue darts out to moisten his chapped lips. The world around me seemed to freeze; he was all I could see. And I, was captivated.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?” I had been staring. I hadn’t realized. Not that I cared.  
“Yes John, I can hear you.” He smiled. My heart fluttered.   
“It’s good to finally see you! Or, I mean...” His voice trailed.  
“Don’t worry, I know what you mean.” I can feel my eyes smile along with my lips. “It’s good to see you too.” I win a grin.   
“How was your day, Sherlock? You must be enjoying all your sciences.” I answer in a rush, my words empty and hollow. All I can think about is how John’s eyes brighten at the sound of my voice. I tell him about school, while he tells me about his latest raid, and how another one of his friends died. Bled out in his arms. He doesn’t bring up Jim, or my father. I am thankful for that.  
“So, what’s the date today then?”  
“February 28” I answer easily.   
“Well, not too much longer until I come home.” His attempt at a positive attitude backfired, mostly thanks to me.  
“Too long, John. Not soon enough” I close my eyes and await his response. I don’t have to wait for long.   
“It’ll be here in no time, Sherlock.” I look at him, his smile is gone. I miss it already. “Sherlock, I have a sort of, odd question.”  
“Yes?” my heart races.  
“I was just wondering if you would mind picking me up? You know, from the airport, when I arrive in August?” I grin.   
“Of course.” I didn’t hesitate. I would be there. His eyes droop close, and he rests his tired head on the wall behind him.  
“God, I want to know what you feel like.” he rumbled. His eyes snapped open in realization of what he just said. “No! I mean” Blush. “I didn’t mean it like that.” I laugh.  
“It’s alright, John. I really wouldn’t have minded if you had.” My turn to blush. I expected an awkward silence to follow but instead John chuckles.  
“Okay, then. Maybe I did a little.” His cheeks held the pinkish colour, and I couldn’t help but think about how well it suited him.  
“John...”  
“Sherlock, you don’t have to say anything, you know.”   
“I know.” I pause. “But I...” what do I say next? “I just can’t afford to forget the sound of your voice.” He smiled slightly, mouth opening to speak.

 **”Sherlock"** A voice boomed through the safety of my walls, shaking the entire house. Father was home. Why did he have to be home? Tonight was supposed to be my night. My night with John. Why couldn’t I have just this one night? One flipping night! “Sherlock I demand that you open this door at once!” My eyes flickered from the door, to John, then back at the door.   
“I have to go.” my voice hardly louder than a whisper. I have no doubt John can hear my heart slamming against my chest.   
“No, Sherlock, don’t.” His eyes pleaded, his voice full of desperation.”  
“I’m sorry John. I have to go. Be safe.”  
“Sherlock, no-”  
“Don’t forget to write.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter but love it at the same time. Let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

   Screams erupted from downstairs. They belong to my mother. I stay where I am, safe, but alone and afraid.

   I sit, cradling myself, hugging my knees to my chest. I’m not supposed to be here, I was supposed to go out studying with Molly. I shouldn’t be home. I was supposed to be anywhere, anywhere but here. Yet here I am. I had forgotten my stupid science text book, and came home to retrieve it. Molly had offered to share hers, but of course me being stubborn ol’ me, I had to turn her down. Instead I had to come home and make things worse.

   I had come home to my mother hustling around the kitchen. She looked up as I walked through the front door and her face contained terror, absolute, pure terror. It took hardly any time for me to realize something was very, very wrong. Father was home. He was home already, _and_ he was drunk. Mummy dragged me to her bedroom and hid me in the closet. After her dirty clothes covered me like a blanket, which allowed me to blend in, she planted a warm kiss on my cheek. She made me promise, no matter what happened, no matter what I heard, I would not come out until she, or Mycroft came to fetch me. I promised. Now I wish I hadn’t. Now I am stuck hearing her agonizing screams, and I can’t do anything to save her. I wonder how the entire block is deafened to her pleading screams. I want to run to her, to take the beating instead. But I had promised. I wouldn’t let Mummy down. So instead, I cry. Sobs overwhelm my entire being. I shake, I cry, I plead, all silently. He never finds me.

   I must have fallen asleep because the next time my eyes open it’s dark outside. Mother still hasn’t come to fetch me. Yet somebody calls my name. Mycroft.  
“Sherlock?” He cries. I peek through the closet doors. My brother is accompanied by a young officer I recognize as Greg Lestrade. What were the coppers doing in my house?  
“Mycroft!” I call out. “In here!” He finds me instantly. “Mycroft, where’s mummy? What happened? Why are the coppers here?”  
“Mummy is currently at the hospital.” He pauses, inhales a deep breath. “Sherlock, she’s dying.” I blink, unable to properly digest the information being thrown my way.   
“And father?” I hardly dare to ask. I surprise myself in even being able to find the courage to ask.  
“Dead.” Mycroft’s head is held high. He’s not usept. He’s not upset that our father just beat our mother to death, and now he too is dead.  
“How?”  
“Shot himself looks like” Lestrade replies. “Probably realized what he had done, and couldn’t live with himself.” Lestrade stood a little too close to Mycroft. Normally I would have commented, I would have poked fun. But I don’t say anything. I keep my mouth closed. I also don’t mention the fact that father would never shoot himself. He was too proud for that. No, there was something else going on. Yet honestly, I didn’t care. I didn’t care that he was dead. In fact, I am thankful that he is.

*

 The next few days pass in a blur. I hardly remember anything that has since happened. My marks don’t drop, even though I know they should. Nothing seems out of place. Until I get home. Everything is all wrong at home. Too empty, too quiet. I hate it. I miss Mummy. I even miss Father. I just wish everything could go back to normal. The only joy I find is in writing John. He is the only hope my day brings.  
   
 **_March 10, 2013_**

**_Sherlock,  
  Sherlock, are you alright? Please tell me you’re okay. I need to know you’re okay. Tell me everything that happened, tell me that he didn’t beat you. Tell me that you’ve gone to live with your brother until I can come rescue you. Please tell me, please._ **

**_Life is so boring without your letters, so write soon okay? Nothing interesting is happening over here, can’t wait for my bloody time to be over and done with. I can’t wait to come and meet you, in person. I can’t wait, Sherlock. Less than 6 months now. We can do this._ **

**_John_ **

*

  _March 21, 2013_

_John,  
   I’m alright, I’m fine. I’m alive, aren’t I? And now you never have to worry about my father again. He’s dead._

_Sherlock_

__*_ _

_**March 30, 2013** _

_**Sherlock,** _   
_**Dead? Holy shit! How? I’m sorry man. Even after all he did to you, to your family, I’m sure it’s still hard. I know what it’s like to love someone even when they do such stupid things. No matter what happens, we’ll always love them. Because, well, that’s family for you. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I understand that. Just promise to keep writing me, okay? You can’t leave me Sherlock, please don’t leave me.** _   
__   
_**John** _

_*_

__April 05, 2013_ _

__John,  
   He beat my mother, thought she was dead, then shot himself. But I’m not upset. Anyone who lays a finger on my mother, deserves to die. I hate it. I hate him. I am glad he is dead. He deserved to die. _ _

But it wasn’t completely true. I was sad. I missed my father. I even missed the way life used to be. I continue to write. I spill my heart on the page, attempting to be poetic. Attempting to make him smile. Then, at least one of us could be happy.

__I am not going to leave you John. Not now, not ever. I can’t. Sometimes, I wish I could. Life was so much simpler before you. Before you, I was invincible. I didn’t care about anyone, or anything. Minus my mother, Molly, and good ol’ Mrs. Hudson. You’ve made me human, John. And I’m not sure I like it. But you’re like a drug, and I’m the addict. I can’t get enough of you, and there’s no chance I’m going to rehab. You’re my drug, John, and now, I can’t live without you.__

__SH_ _

_*_

_**_April 18, 2013_**_

_**_Sherlock,  
   I understand. He was not a very nice man. I’m glad you’re safe now. From him at least._ ** _

_**_Wow! I can not believe it’s already half way through April. Not too long until I come home Sherlock. And hey, how about another phone call? Two weeks? I miss your voice. I miss your clever remarks, and how easily everything comes to you. I miss your laugh, I miss your smile. I miss, well, I guess I just miss everything about you._ ** _

_**_Alright, so there’s something I kind of need to say. I know, I should wait until we speak kind of in person, but I need to say it now. Being in the war, you learn a thing or two. I know a lot about missing, about wanting. About craving. Everyday that passes I miss my family more. I want chocolate. I want a warm bed, I want an ice cream cone. And while all those are terrible things to not have, the things I crave are the worse. I swear Sherlock, I’m worse than a teenage girl on her period. And the thing I crave the most, is you. I crave you, Sherlock._ ** _

_**_I crave your smile, your voice. I crave your touch, and your smell. I long to lay around with you all day, doing absolutely nothing, as the day passes around us. I’ve learned about regrets, you see. About how every moment could be your last. Especially out here. I have to be honest with myself, there is always a chance I might die, quite a good chance.  And if I do, I don’t want to die a regretful man. My biggest regret, would be not telling you about how I feel, Sherlock. How I really feel about you._ ** _

_**_Sherlock, I am completely, hopelessly, and utterly, in love you with._ ** _

_**_John xo_** _

*

   I stare blankly at the letter, doing my best to develop the words on the paper and change them to thoughts. To realize exactly what this meant. John Watson, soldier in Afghanistan, is in love with me, Sherlock Holmes, 18 year old high school genius. Don’t ask me how, or why, but he is. I have never felt so happy. So complete.

*

_April 29, 2013_

_John,  
   I have lived my entire life alone, and wondering. Wondering if I will ever be able to make my father proud. I wonder how people can be so stupid. How they can just overlook such obvious details. And most recently, I’ve been wondering about you. I realize now that I never truly will be content until I know you. Until you are mine. I want to find every scar, and every mole that is painted on your skin. I want to discover your taste, and the way you smell. I won’t be satisfied until I’ve memorized every inch of your body. I want to know your every secret, and I want you to know mine. I want you, John. I love you._

_I love you John. When I talk to you, I no longer feel alone. You are what completes me._

_Forever yours,_  
Sherlock xo

  
*

   I don’t remember ever seeing Mummy look so pale, and fragile. I feel as though, if I so much as poke her, her bones could break. Her breathing is unsteady, and her eyes are full of pain. The meds should help, but they don’t. She sleeps, and I watch her. I regret not coming out from my hiding place in the closet. I regret not hearing the sound of the gun. Wait. The sound of the gun...

   We don’t own a silencer. Yet Lestrade said that is what was used. Our gun, but now our silencer. That doesn’t make sense. I knew it, I knew it! Father didn’t kill himself, somebody killed him. My father had never beaten my mother before, no more than a slap across the face. He loved her, even when he was drunk. It was just me he hated. But that wasn’t the point. No, someone else beat my mother. He wanted to make it seem like it was Father. They thought she was dead, that she wouldn’t be able to tell us it wasn’t actually Father who had beat her. If she wasn’t dead then perhaps she would be able to tell us who killed Father.

   Mummy never wakes up for more than a few minutes at a time. She always looks sad. Broken. I wish I could help her, but I know I can’t. She is going to die, and there is nothing I can do about it. I sit next to her hospital bed and take her hand in mine. My lips brush against her cold fingers. Her eyes flutter open softly. She smiles. 

“Sherlock”  
“Don’t talk Mummy, it’s alright. I’m not leaving.” she reaches out her hand to stroke my cheek but can’t quite reach. I lean forward, into the touch.   
“What a beautiful son I’ve raised. Despite what anyone thinks, you care so much.”  
“I have always cared about you Mummy.” I whimper.  
“I know, mon petit, I know. Your Father often thought caring wasn’t an advantage. It’s not until you meet someone that your opinion truly changes” She was hinting. I smile. Normally I wouldn’t give in to her suggestions, but in this particular moment, seeing her happy was all I wanted.  
“I’m in love Mummy.” I admit. She giggles. It’s interrupted by a wheezing cough.   
“I knew it.” says she, when her breath returns to her body. “That soldier right? The one you’re always writing? What’s his name again?”  
“John. John Watson.”  
“Ah yes, that’s him. He’s very handsome. I’d like to meet him When does he come back around?”  
“August first” She won’t be along that long. She knows that. She pretends. She pretends for me.   
“Can’t wait” She settles further into her bed. “Make sure he’s good to you.”  
“Of course.” Her eyes close.  
“I love you Sherlock.” A tear rolls down my cheek, landing on my thigh.   
“I love you too Mummy.” Her eyes open half way.  
“Shhh, don’t cry mon petit.” I kiss her fingers again. “Tell your brother to watch my baby boy, okay?” I nod, unable to speak. She smiles. Then, her eyes close, and she takes her final breath. Her body goes still, and her hand drops from mine. It hangs limply off the hospital bed.   
“Mummy, no. Don’t go. Don’t leave me” She doesn’t answer. She’s gone. Gone forever.

   I don’t sleep that night. I lie awake and cry until my eyes have gone dry. John is the only thing keeping me from feeling empty. Without his letters, I am completely alone.

*

 _April 30. 2013_  
John,  
   Mummy died last night. I feel so alone, so empty.

*

John still hasn’t written, and he didn’t call. He was supposed to call. Why didn’t he call?

*

_June 03, 2013_

_John,_  
   I know things happen, and I’m assuming it’s nothing, but you have me really worried. Where were you Wednesday? Why didn’t you call? Write me asap.  
    
Sherlock

*

_June 13, 2013_

_John,  
   Okay, now I’m really worried. What’s going on? WRITE OR CALL!_

_Sherlock xo_

*

_June 23, 2013_

_John,  
  A month. It’s been over one month since you wrote me last. Where are you? Please, just let me know you’re alright._

_SH xo_

*

   The telephone rings, I answer. I hang up after a 30 second conversation. I have lost the ability to move. I can’t breathe. But I weep. Then, I write.

*

_June 30, 2013_

_John,  
   The letter agency called. They say you’re gone. But you’re not. I know you’re not. You can’t be. You promised._

_I still remember the way I felt when you wrote me that first letter. I refused to open it until was home, my bedroom door locked behind me. I was so happy, even though all I knew was your name. I hate how happy it made me, because I wasn’t supposed to even have emotions. But sure enough, you made me happy, John. You made me happy when nobody else could. And for that, I am forever grateful._

_It’s weird, you know, not having father around anymore. Every night I come home, prepared and ready for whatever he has in store. But he’s never there. Then I remember, he’s gone. Mummy is gone now too. Mycroft has moved in, and taken Father’s old position at work. He doesn’t try to boss me around, but I can tell he’s watching. He is always watching. Life at home is better now, however, it’s quite lonely without Mummy. Mrs. Hunsdon comes over sometimes. She makes us dinner and tea. She’s always bringing homemade biscuits and such. She has offered me a flat as she owns several, and I think I may take her up on her offer. I’m not sure how much longer I will be able to live in this house of mine. But, I still wish to run away with you, so hurry up and come home okay? Not too much longer now._

_You’re not gone, John. I refuse to believe that. Let me know you’re safe. Let me know that you’re alive. Please John. Please, just, don’t be dead._

_I’m waiting. Just like I promised I would.  
  Sherlock xoxo _

*

  _July 12, 2013_

_John,  
   I moved into on of Mrs. Hudson’s flats today. Mycroft is uneasy about me living alone, but I knew he has some secret cameras in the flat, or something. Mrs. Hudson checks on me often. I like it though, I like it here. It’s cozy. You can come move in when you come home. There’s a room for you upstairs if we’ll be needing two bedrooms. Everyone is so eager to meet you. Only a little while longer now. _

_Write me okay?  
Sherlock xo _

*

_July 16, 2013_

_John,  
 Have you decided you don’t love me anymore? Is that what’s going on? Do you regret saying what you did? I can forget John, I’m good at forgetting. Please, just let me know you’re alive. _

*

  _July 25, 2013_

 _John,_  
  Please don’t be gone. Please, just stop. Stop this.  
SH.

*

_August 1st, 2013_

_John,  
  This will be the last time I write to you. You’re gone._

_I went to the airport today. I waited, like an idiot I waited. I couldn’t risk it, just in case you came. I saw people greeting their soldiers as they exited the plane. I saw their smiling faces, and the tears of joy that streamed down their cheeks. I saw nothing but happiness. Except for when I looked in the mirror. I went home feeling emptier than ever._

_I know it’s kind of silly, sending these letters to a man who no longer exists. It’s just the only way I know how to talk to you. The only way I know how to say goodbye._

_You are the best man I have ever known. And you told me once you didn’t want to die a regretful man. I hope you didn’t have any regrets John. You deserve to have died in peace. Me, however, I have more regrets than you will ever be able to imagine. But my biggest regret will always be not getting to hold you. Now I will always wonder about all your mysteries, all the secrets you’ve never told. I will always wonder about John Watson, the only one I’ve ever wanted, and the one person I could never have._

_You were the only one who understood me John. The only one who could still love me, despite all my differences. I’m weird, and annoying, insufferable, and a total dick most of the time, but you loved me anyways. You loved me when no one else could. Not even my own Father. So thank you, John. Thank you._

_I love you John, and everyday I miss you more. But I guess this is it, this is goodbye. I hate to say it, but I know I need to. I need to let you go._

_Goodbye John._

_Forever yours,  
 Sherlock Holmes xo _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took so long to write! Hope it turned out alright!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But, what do I tell him?" Mycroft holds the other man's gaze, his held held high. Proud, determined.  
> "Nothing." he said firmly. The man winced next to him.  
> "Surely, you don't mean that."  
> "Of course I do" Mycroft snapped. But he knew it want true. He just wanted his brother to be happy. But deep down inside, he wondered if that would ever be possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter guys (then the epilogue!)

  Three months. It’s been three months since I wrote that last letter. And I haven’t been the same since. I go to university now. I hate it. I no longer feel like living. What’s the point? I feel like I’m just surviving, I care about nothing, and no one. Jim and Molly are both there, but I wish Jim wasn’t. Jim has been over several times. “Comforting me.” That’s what he says. It does nothing but make things worse. He tastes and smells of filth, his eyes are much too dark. He touches me where one has dared explore before. I wish he wouldn’t. I wish it was John.

   Molly has started putting things together. It wasn’t until today however, that she said anything...

“Hey Sherlock!” Molly calls as she catches up to me. She has to walk quickly, her legs almost half my length. She doesn’t seem to mind.   
“Hi.” I mumble. She looks unimpressed. Hurt, almost. I don’t understand.  
“Sherlock, we need to talk.” She spat, gripping onto my arm. I follow her to until we’re behind one of the school’s corners. There are people around, but none within ear shot. Molly’s eyes were unusually large. I recognized the look as worry. Mummy wore it often when she was still alive. “Sherlock, what happened to John? I thought he was supposed to be home by now?" My eyes met hers. There wasn’t a trace of her usual laughter or joy. Best to be honest   
“He’s dead.” I reply bluntly. There was silence, then warmth. Her arms wrap tightly around my neck, and her hands clasp together on my back. I nuzzle into her cheek, trying my best not to show emotion. I try not to show how broken I am. Show how I lost my best friend, the man I loved, and how much that is killing me. SHe pulls away after a good long while. Along her rose coloured cheek lay streaks of moisture where tears once laid. Tears for me. Tears for John.  
“Oh, Sherlock. I’m so sorry.” She takes my hand and intertwined our fingers. It feels better than Jim’s, but still not quite right.  Her fingers are too small, too dainty.

    We walk for awhile like that, hand in hand, before we reach a bench. She asks about Jim. She knows something is up, so I tell her. I tell her everything. I tell her, and I cry into her arms. She lets me. 

“Sherlock, I’m not leaving your side y’hear?” she kisses my forehead. “We need to tell Mycroft” Every fiber in my body wants to scream no. But instead, I nod. I don’t want Jim anymore. I never wanted Jim, not ever. All I’ve ever wanted was John.

*

   Five months of bitter tears and empty songs. Mycroft cries when he finds out about Jim. It’s the first time I have seen him cry since we were children. It feels me with guilt. I always think Mycroft is invincible, that he doesn’t care for anyone, or anything, but he does. He cares for me. He installs cameras, and tells me where they are. He gets me an iphone and tells me not to hesitate to call. I thank him, but know I won’t. Despite the fact that my brother is running the country’s security, and he practically is the government, he still finds time to watch out for his baby brother. I don’t even pretend to hate him anymore. He’s the only family I have left, and I need as many friends as I can get.

   I try to hide in between classes. Molly tries to help, but not even I can hide from Jim Moriarty. He finds me. He beats me until I’m black and blue. Then he holds me down and takes over my being. He tries to make us “one”. But we will **never** be one, because I will never be like him. Mycroft sees the bruises and knows automatically where they’re from. They make Molly cry, and Mrs. Hudson never stops fretting. I feel ashamed and guilty. I ruin everyone’s joy. Everyone would be better off without me.

   Today I waited for an hour before walking home. My shame overwhelms me. Jim had left 45 minutes earlier, but I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing me. Not like this. It had just begun to rain. Chilly, November rain, drenching me to my soul. But I didn’t really mind. My tears were hidden by the shower of rain, and the salty tang of blood was washed away. The liquid stund my fresh cuts, but brought down the swelling my right eye. When I arrive at my new home, 221B Baker street, I run straight for my room. I collapse face first on the firm bed, my sobs are masked by the feather filled pillow. I am not quite sure when, but eventually I fall asleep. When I awake, it’s half way through the next day.

   The sun peeks through the curtain, filling my entire being with a satisfying warmth. I get up only when my bladder can hold my urine no longer. Then, I take a shower. I let the water wash away the remaining blood. It burns a bit, but it’s the good kind of pain, like removing a splinter from your palm. Breakfast is already on the table when I exit the steaming room. It is laid with bacon, and eggs, enough for two people. I would have to thank Mrs. Hudson later. I sat down, but hardly touched the food. I wasn’t hungry. I hardly ever was. It seemed as though my appetite had died away along with the people I love. I had just cleared the food, finding place in my hardly used fridge for the leftovers, when a light knock sounded at the door. I'm tempted to ignore it, probably Mycroft anyways. But in the end I decide it’s better to just answer it. I open the door, only to shut it again. I rest my back on the door, my breathing increased. It was him.

“Sherlock?” the familiar voice called out, muffled from the door and walls which separated us. Shivers crawled up my spine. He was here. He had found me. When I am able to find my breath I swing open the door. I pounce on him. My arms are all over the other man’s body. Our bodies just couldn’t be close enough. I hug him until I am almost certain all the breath has left his body. Then I allow us to part just enough to press my mouth against his. Teeth clashed, tongues swirled, and arms grabbed.  
“Sherlock.” he mumbled. I moved my lips to kiss his neck. I kiss his cheeks, then his forehead. His nose. I kiss anything my lips can find. Eventually he chuckles and takes a step back. “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in for tea?” I nod furiously, taking his hand and lead him into the lounge area.

    I pour the tea into two cups. One for me, and the other for John. I squeeze my eyes close, and moan silently. John was alive. John was here, in my flat. I hand him his cup before taking a seat next to him. I angle my body so I can stare directly at him. He is so much more perfect in person. He was clean shaven, and smelled of earl grey tea and lavender. He still used the soap I bought him. His deep blue eyes glistened, crinkling ever so slightly when he smiled. His hair was less wild than before, showeter now, more controlled. His teeth are perfectly aligned, and almost seem to sparkle when he smiles. He was extra careful with his left arm, treating it gently. He had been shot. Should be wearing a cast. Wants to appear strong. Wants to impress. Wants to impress me.

“What happened?”I ask him finally.  
“Well. I got shot.” his voice was thick, emotional. “I was in a coma. For months. They had doubts that I’d even make it out alive.” He paused, holding his left arm in his right. “I tried to call. As soon as I woke up, I tried to call.” he shakes his head softly. “But nobody ever answered.” His voice was broken. He thought I had abandoned him, while I thought the same about him.   
“How did you find me?”   
“Mycroft.” he smiles slightly. “He must have figured out I was in the hospital, because just as I was leaving he shows up and tells me you moved. That you’re in university to be a detective.” His smile grows. “I’m proud of you Sherlock.”  
“I did it for you.” I say in a hushed voice. He almost doesn’t hear me.   
“What do you mean?”  
“I knew it was what you wanted for me. For me to get a job. To be able to defend myself.”  
“Of course I would like that Sherlock, but that’s not what I really wanted.” I tilt my head slightly to the right. I don’t understand. He places his warm palm on the back of my hand. I flip it up so I can intertwine our fingers together. They fit like they were made for each other “I just want you to be happy.”

   That’s all he could say before I crashed my lips against his. Kissing him was perfect. He tasted of black tea, and grapefruit. The smell of his aftershave burns in my nose, and tickles the back of my throat. His lips are chapped and dry, probably from the constant licking. Our kisses aren’t like before, they are more controlled, gentle. In love. His fingers have found my hair, as mine are clawing away at the hem of his shirt.  
“Sherlock” he giggles through our kisses. I smile, I love hearing him say my name.   
“I want to see.” I whine. “I want to see the scar.” The emotion in the room instantly switches to serious. He holds my gaze for a few seconds before nodding. He pulls the shirt up over his head, removing the layer of fabric from his body. His flesh is much paler where the shirt had been, but pale for him was darker than me at my tanist. Muscles rippled through his chest, shoulders, arms, and stomach after each movement. On his left shoulder, half an inch away from his heart, lay his battle wound. My eyes never leave the raw purple flesh as my arm reaches towards him. My fingers hover over the tender skin before grazing across it gently. It was tragically beautiful. Just like him.

“Sherlock, I’m here for good. I'm not going anywhere. I promise.” I hadn’t noticed I was shaking until he had spoken. But now I notice my whole body is wired, as if I was on a sugar high. Emotion clogs my throat, tears stain my ghostly cheeks.   
“You promised to stay safe, John. But you didn’t.” He’s holding me now, kissing my head. “I thought you were dead, John. You left me all alone. You promised to stay safe.” I repeat, over and over. My voice is hoarse, dry. My eyes burn from crying, and my body aches from sleeping in a weird position. But for once my heart is happy. A weight has been lifted. John, my John, my soldier, was alive. Finally I, am content. I am whole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wouldn't be much of a Johnlock fic if they didn't even get to kiss. Hehe. Lemme know whatcha think!


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first night in years I sleep soundly; no nightmares come to visit me. Instead, I dream of Sherlock and all his perfections. I dream of spending the rest of my life with him. The truth is, at 22, I may be young, but I know what I want. And what I want is Sherlock, and to spend forever with him by my side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you have it guys, the last chapter.

   When I awake the world is sleeping. My body is covered in a warm duvet, and a young boy is sleeping soundly next to me. Sherlock. He was even more spectacular than I had imagined. He’s tall, lanky, pale. But unbelievably beautiful. His head is blanketed is long, black curls that dance on his forehead when he moves. He walks with a spring in his step, that really has no reason to be there. The poor kid had been through more than his fair share of troubling times. He had is worse than I’ve ever had, and I fought in Afghanistan for god’s sake. Yet, he continued to be cheerful. Optimistic, even when everything was taken from him.

   I am absolutely taken with the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. His icy blue eyes shine when he speaks, and his fine lips twitch when he thinks. He has an unusually deep voice for an 18 old, but I don’t mind. It makes me feel young. He makes me feel young. His voice has the ability to warm me from the inside out. Purple and blue bruises cover the skin on his face and arms, and seeing them there fills me with rage. I hate Jim Moriarty without even knowing him. I hate him for what he does to Sherlock. I hate him for being Sherlock’s first, when I wish it had been me. It takes me awhile to fall back to sleep, but after a while I am able to drift off. Although, lack of sleep doesn’t bother me anymore, not in the slightest. By the time the clock strikes 6am, I’m already showered and making breakfast. Sherlock eventually makes his way out of bed, showers, and joins me for tea.

“Guess I didn’t eat last night.” He mumbles, taking a large bite of toast.  
“Sorry, I can be distracting.” I say with a wink and a chuckle. Sherlock grins widely, strawberry seeds from the jam stuck in his front teeth. I can’t help but look forward to when I’d be able to help him get rid of them later. He ate quickly, demolishing the two pieces of toast, and eggs in minutes. Before I could even ask him ‘why the rush’, he snatches his school books.   
“I missed yesterday.”  he explains. “You wouldn’t want me to fail my classes would you?” I frown, I had forgotten about school.  
“I guess not” I grumble. He grins.  
“Soon, you’ll be joining me, doctor.” He plants a kiss on my lips. I lean in for more.   
“I’ll pick you up then after class then.”   
“Fantastic” He kisses me again softly.   
“You better be off.” I whisper, before I got even more tempted to keep him here for a repeat of last night. He smirked, kissing me one last time before turning on his heels and disappearing, leaving me breathless.  
    I spent the entire day snooping. I searched Sherlock’s room, kitchen, even his bathroom. His last class ends at 2:20 so at 1:40 I start to make my way over. I stop at a bakery, ordering a few biscuits for Sherlock and I. However, I end up eating them all. Nothing tasted more like heaven. I decide to surprise Sherlock by waiting at his locker. I forgot that some universities even had lockers you could rent, but I remember his combination from a previous phone call, and opened it easily. I never forgot anything when it came to Sherlock. I could recite every single letter he sent me, word for word. 

   The inside of the locker door was covered in photographs.  His family. Molly. Me. There I stood, in my military uniform, dead centre of Sherlock’s locker. I smile, and close the locker door, locking it again.

   Young adults, teenagers, teachers, spill into the halls. I ignore the stares and whispers as they walk by. It must be a fairly small school if they knew everyone who attended. Weird for a university in London..  I suppose it was technically outside of London. In fact the town was quite small. Sherlock must have grown up here, and moved to London when his parents died. I shrug it off. I honestly couldn’t care less about what they think of me. One girl stops to chat.

“Hello.” she chimes, adjusting her ringleted moaka hair. She smiles a little too eagerly.   
“Uh, hi.”  
“I’m Sally. Are you new here?” She reaches her hand to shake mine. I take it. Sally, huh? It couldn’t be the Sally Sherlock was always complaining about could it? Didn’t he say she was seeing someone? Anderson, or whatever. She was hitting on me far to quickly to already be attached. That or she just wants attention.   
“Ahm, no. I’m actually here to see Sherlock.” I pause. “I’m John, by the way.” she gasps.   
“Not the soldier John? I thought you died?” I laugh.   
“Well, that seems to be a common misconception, as I am indeed not dead. In fact, I am very much alive.” her mouth continues to hang open.  
“I knew I recognized you." she blushes, then searches her head for something to say "Sherlock has a major crush on you.” she blurted. I chuckle. She was trying to make me feel uncomfortable. I decide do the same to her. Except I succeed in my attempt.   
“Well I should hope so after the outrageous shag we had last night.” She appears outraged, disgusted. She walks away, her shoulders hunched. I can almost see the steam pouring out her ears. But I don’t give a shit, not a single one.

“John!” I feel my smile burst as Sherlock spots me. He nearly drops his books as he runs into my arms. I stifle a chuckle as he nuzzles his face into the nape of my neck.  
“Heya, Sherlock.” I giggle, taking a small step back. He refused to let go. Instead, he hugs me closer, holding me tightly around my waist.  
“You’re here.” he gasps, clinging to my side.   
“Did you doubt me?” I ask.   
“I thought I had just imagined you. Imaged last night.” he whispered. I could tell from the tight line his lips held that he was serious. He had been afraid that I wasn’t really there. That I was still gone, and that we would never actually meet. I don’t say anything. I just slide my hand down his arm to hold his hand in mine. I press our palms close and rub circles on the back of his hand with my thumb. “We fit perfectly” the boy purs. I rock onto the balls of my feet to reach his lips. He kisses me passionately. When he pulls back he’s grinning from ear to ear. "Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet!” He exclaims, dragging me along side him.

   We walk briskly through the now empty halls. Sherlock’s head bobs up and down as he searches. Something, or someone catches my eye. Something about them is so familiar. I shake it off.  Finally we arrive at the science department. He enters the room and bounds up to the girl dressed in a lab coat. Under her lab coat she wears a blouse and trousers. Her wavy hair is tied loosely at the back of her head, a royal blue bow keeping the ponytail secure. I recognize her instantly. 

“Sherlock!” She squeals as Sherlock pokes her side. “My god, you scared me!” Sherlock laughs, I smile at the sound. His head tilts towards me, and the girl’s eyes follow, widening as they register what they see. “John.” she breathes.  
“Hello, Molly.” I say, smiling at the beautiful young girl. She takes a cautious step forward.   
“But you, it can’t be.” she’s reaching out now, her hand on my face, as if she still can’t believe I’m really there. “But you, you’re dead.” how original, I think.   
“Yeah, well, surprise. I’m alive.” she nods, then smiles. She embraces me tightly. For a few seconds I am uncertain as what to do, so I just hug her back. When she pulls back she has tears in her eyes.   
“And mike?” I nod.  
“Just got back.” I tell her. She grins. “He’s planning a visit but I promised not to tell when so, just be prepared.” I wink. She beams, her smile nearly ready to burst.   
“Thank you. Thank you!” She kissed my cheek before running off, her excited squeals trailing behind her.  Sherlock laughs and steps near me.   
“You just made her a very happy girl.” I kiss him. I don’t stop. Not until a new voice speaks. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”  I spin around. Two men stand in the doorway. One I know very well.  
“Seb?” he grimaces. The smaller one beside him frowns.  
“Isn’t he supposed to be dead?” The small one was clearly talking about me. An eery silence floods the lab. I’m thankful Molly had left. “Oh well. More fun this way anyways.” he steps forwards, away from my old army friend. Sebastian's eyes are sad, his shoulder sag as if they carry a heavy weight. Guilt. His gaze hasn’t left my wound since he had arrived. I don’t wear a cast, he shouldn’t know where the scar is found. But he does, and I know why.   
“It’s alright Seb. I understand.” he bites his lip in attempt to keep it from trembling.  
“I’m sorry, John.”  
“John?” Sherlock tugged gently on my sleeve, his eyes large and round, like a lost puppy. “Who is that? How do you know him? I swallow the invisible lump in my throat.   
“His name is Sebastian Moran. We fought together." I pause. Sherlock shouldn’t know. I shouldn’t tell him. But I do. I’m done keeping secrets, especially from him. “He was hired to kill me. He is the man who shot me.”

   There were a few seconds in which nothing happened. Then, he lunged. Sherlock launched himself at the older man, ignoring the fact he was twice his size in every way. I hold him back until finally he gives up and falls to the ground.   
“I’ll kill him” he mutters. He whispered it to himself, over and over, clutching his knees to his chest, rocking slightly. Sebastian stares at his feet, and the man beside him stands motionless, his face cold as stone. Then he blinks, twice. He takes a few steps forward.

“Well, it’s good to finally meet you, Johnny boy.” he stuck his hand out to shake. I ignored it. “Jim Moriarty. Hi.” I grit my teeth together, rage grows inside me. “All though, I will admit, this isn’t exactly going how I planned. But no worries, I can still make it work.” I don’t flinch as he stands beside me. We’re so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “Sherlock.” he sings, his eyes never leaving mine. I feel a gun being pressed to my hip. A glock. “If you don’t come with me now, your precious boyfriend” he spat the word. He’s jealous. that’s what this is all about. He’s in love with Sherlock. “will die.” Sherlock’s entire body goes rigid. He doesn’t hesitate.   
“Yes.” I shake my head slowly. He can’t. I won’t let him. “Okay, I’ll come. Just, just let John go.”  
“Of course.” Moriarty smiles and blinks too quickly. Flirting.   
“Wait. You tried to kill me before.” he doesn’t move. “Why? What good did you think that would do you?” I pause. I search deep down to find the courage inside of me to do what I know I need to. Saving Sherlock is all I can think about, all I want. “Sherlock will never love you. He’s in love with me. And as long as I’m still breathing, he always will.” Jim looks thoughtful. “And as long as I’m alive, you can bet your ass I’ll search. And when I find him, what I do to you, will be anything but legal.” Jim nods, steps closer. He places the gun to my forehead. I don’t even blink.

    If you were to ask me what happened next, I doubt I’d be able to tell you, and still get the facts straight. It’s all a bit of a blur. I inhaled deeply, once, then again. My eyelids fluttered close. It was time. My elbow swung upwards, creating a vigorous crack as it made impacted with Jim’s nose. He retreated just enough for me to whip out and snatch the gun from his grasp. In a total of five seconds, the gun had made it’s way from Moriarty's hand, to mine. It’s barrel pointed directly at the other man’s chest. He seems surprised, but not afraid. No, in fact, he’s completely calm. Not a single hair is out of place.  
“What are you going to do, shoot me?” he taunted. I check the safety, off.   
“It’s not like I’ve never killed a man before.”  
“True. But out here, in the real world, murder is illegal.”   
“I don’t murder people, Jim.” I spat.  
“John, don’t. He’s just trying to get inside your head" Sherlock soothed. I nod so he knows I hear him. I refuse to let Jim win. My finger itches on the trigger.   
“Doctor Watson.” I freeze. “Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it?” What was he getting at? Sherlock glared at his ex classmate. Apparently Jim’s plan was obvious. Obvious, to everyone, except me.   
“What does that have to do with anything?”  
“No one is going to hire a doctor who killed someone in cold blood.” of course. I should have known.   
“Sherlock’s life is more important to me than any PhD.” I could almost feel Sherlock smile beside me. Pride floods me, filling me with a glowing warmth. He was worth the entire universe, which I would gladly give him if I could. “What about you Jim? How many people have you killed? In ‘cold blood’” I ask, a sneer clear in my tone.   
“Myself? None. Sebastian however, has killed many. He’s very obedient.”   
“How many?” I spit through ground teeth.   
“Well there was that stupid Eric boy who always picked on Sherlock, making his life miserable. Made it seem like suicide. That’s my specialty. And then of course, there was daddy Holmes. But he, well, he deserved to die." Sherlock's body went ridged  
“You?” Sherlock croaked. “It was you?”  
“Oh Sherlock, don’t sound so surprised. Daddy just had to go.” This needed to stop. It is time to end it. End this.   
“Yeah, well now it’s your turn to go.” I growl, turning the gun so it’s pointing to his temple.    
“You’re really going to kill me?” He laughs. “Fine. Very well then, shoot.” I feel my lips curve up into a smile.   
“I’m not going to shoot you Jim. I refuse to stoop down to your level.” he appeared confused. Everyone did. For once I was the smart one in the room. “Lestrade!” I shout out.

   At the sound of my signal, in rushes two men in police uniforms and a man dressed neatly in a suit and tie.  
“Cuff him lads.”

*

    Sherlock and I wait outside in silence. He holds on tightly to my palms, and refuses to let go. Eventually the man in the suit and an officer stride towards us. I jump to my feet.

“Greg!” I exclaim. Sherlock stiffens beside me. I extend my hand to shake the man’s hand, but instead he pulls me into a hug. I am taken a bit aback.   
“Good to see you again, old friend. You look well” I nod.   
“Thanks.” I look at the other bloke. “Mycroft.”  
“Hello, John.” he shakes my hand firmly. “Always a pleasure.” he smiles. “Thank you for taking care of my baby brother.  
“Anytime.” I mean it. Mycroft offers Sherlock and I a drive back to 221B Baker Street, but we refuse politely. We take a cab instead.

“How did my brother know to be there?” Sherlock asks after a few minutes of silence. I smirk, knowing he’ll be able to figure it out. Sure enough, “You called him. No, texted. You saw Jim with Sebastian in the halls earlier, and knew something was wrong. What did the text say?” I grin.   
“‘Sherlock could be in trouble. Come to the school at once.’ Later I added to be sneaky, and that I wanted to get a confession out of him”  
“You got him to admit him to arranging my father’s murder.” Sherlock stared blankly. “How did you know?” I shrug.  
“I didn’t. I just figured a man like him must have killed at least some people by now.” I smile. “And with your testimony, I’m sure he’ll go away for a long time. Let’s hope for life.” Sherlock returns the smile.  
“You’re a genius.” I chuckle.  
“No, Sherlock. You’re the genius, remember?” I toss him a wink. He punches my arm playfully before resting his head on my good shoulder. I kiss his forehead. He smells of sweat and cranberry shampoo. I move my lips so they’re on Sherlock’s. So I can breathe him in deep. Nothing will ever be as satisfying as kissing that teenage wonder. My genius. When we arrive back home we trip up the stairs in between sloppy kisses. My fingers search his body, grabbing at anything they can find.  
“I love you, John.” Sherlock gasps, climbing on top of me.  
“I love you too, Sherlock.” I laugh, but push him off so we’re both laying side by side on his bed. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted” I whisper, tucking a strand of loose curls behind the younger boy’s ear. Sherlock runs his fingertips along my spine, trailing them against the naked skin, until they found the scar that marked the bullet’s exit.  “I can’t live without you John.” he whimpers.  
“You won’t ever have to.” I say, bending in closer to kiss his mouth. He interwines his fingers with mine.  
“Promise?”  
“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I don't know if I'm really supposed to do this, but I'm gonna do it anyways. If you have tumblr and you'd like to follow me, or if you have any questions for me I would love to talk to y'all. So anyways I'll just leave my URL here. gingercult.tumblr.com
> 
> *
> 
> Also, I'd just like to say thanks to everyone who's given this fic kudos, and left comments. It means more than you will ever know. And a special thank you to Cecily for helping me keep with the fic. She's perf, and I don't know what I would have done without her.


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